"I do. The woman was definitely so distraught that it was impossible to get near her. She was about to throw herself and the child over the cliff."

There was little more evidence. The Coroner directed the jury that Vanda Polonska came to her death by the hand of Mrs Sprot and formally exonerated the latter from blame. There was no evidence to show what was the state of the dead woman's mind. She might have been actuated by hate of England. Some of the Polish "comforts" distributed to refugees bore the name of the ladies sending them, and it was possible that the woman got Mrs Sprot's name and address this way, but it was not easy to get at her reason for kidnapping the child - possibly some crazy motive quite incomprehensible to the normal mind. Polonska, according to her own story, had suffered great bereavement in her own country, and that might have turned her brain. On the other hand, she might be an enemy agent.

The verdict was in accordance with the Coroner's summing up.

II.

On the day following the inquest Mrs Blenkensop and Mr Meadowes met to compare notes.

"Exit Vanda Polonska and a blank wall as usual," said Tommy gloomily.

Tuppence nodded.

"Yes, they seal up both ends, don't they? No papers, no hints of any kind as to where the money came from that she and her cousins had, no record of whom they had dealings with."

"Too d.a.m.ned efficient," said Tommy.

He added: "You know, Tuppence, I don't like the look of things."

Tuppence a.s.sented. The news was indeed far from rea.s.suring.

The French Army was in retreat and it seemed doubtful if the tide could be turned. Evacuation from Dunkirk was in progress. It was clearly a matter of a few days only before Paris fell. There was a general dismay at the revelation of lack of equipment and of material for resisting the Germans' great mechanized units.

Tommy said: "Is it only our usual muddling and slowness? Or has there been deliberate engineering behind this?"

"The latter, I think, but they'll never be able to prove it."

"No. Our adversaries are too darned clever for that."

"We are combing out a lot of the rot now."

"Oh, yes, we're rounding up the obvious people, but I don't believe we've got at the brains that are behind it all. Brains, organization, a whole carefully thought-out plan - a plan which uses our habits of dilatoriness, and our petty feuds, and our slowness for its own ends."

Tuppence said: "That's what we're here for - and we haven't got results."

"We've done something," Tommy reminded her.

"Carl von Deinim and Vanda Polonska, yes. The small fry."

"You think they were working together?"

"I think they must have been," said Tuppence thoughtfully. "Remember, I saw them talking."

"Then Carl von Deinim must have engineered the kidnapping."

"I suppose so."

"But why?"

"I know," said Tuppence. "That's what I keep thinking and thinking about. It doesn't make sense."

"Why kidnap that particular child? Who are the Sprots? They've no money - so it isn't ransom. They're neither of them employed by the Government in any capacity."

"I know, Tommy. It just doesn't make any sense at all."

"Hasn't Mrs Sprot any idea herself?"

"That woman," said Tuppence scornfully, "hasn't got the brains of a hen. She doesn't think at all. Just says it's the sort of thing the wicked Germans would do."

"Silly a.s.s," said Tommy. "The Germans are efficient. If they send one of their agents to kidnap a brat, it's for some reason."

"I've a feeling, you know," said Tuppence, "that Mrs Sprot could get at the reason if only she'd think about it. There must be something - some piece of information that she herself has inadvertently got hold of, perhaps without knowing what it is exactly."

"Say nothing. Wait for instructions," Tommy quoted from the note found on Mrs Sprot's bedroom floor. "d.a.m.n it all, that means something."

"Of course it does - it must. The only thing I can think of is that Mrs Sprot, or her husband, has been given something to keep by someone else - given it, perhaps, just because they are such humdrum ordinary people that no one would ever suspect they had it - whatever 'it' may be."

"It's an idea, that."

"I know - but it's awfully like a spy story. It doesn't seem real somehow."

"Have you asked Mrs Sprot to rack her brains a bit?"

"Yes, the trouble is that she isn't really interested. All she cares about is getting Betty back - that, and having hysterics because she's shot someone."

"Funny creatures, women," mused Tommy. "There was that woman, went out that day like an avenging fury, she'd have shot down a regiment in cold blood without turning a hair just to get her child back, and then, having shot the kidnapper by a perfectly incredible fluke, she breaks down and comes all over squeamish about it."

"The coroner exonerated her all right," said Tuppence.

"Naturally. By jove, I wouldn't have risked firing when she did."

Tuppence said: "No more would she, probably, if she'd known more about it. It was sheer ignorance of the difficulty of the shot that made her bring it off."

Tommy nodded.

"Quite Biblical," he said. "David and Goliath."

"Oh!" said Tuppence.

"What is it, old thing?"

"I don't quite know. When you said that something tw.a.n.ged somewhere in my brain, and now it's gone again!"

"Very useful," said Tommy.

"Don't be scathing. That sort of thing does happen sometimes."

"Gentleman who draw a bow at a venture, was that it?"

"No, it was - wait a minute - I think it was something to do with Solomon."

"Cedars, temples, a lot of wives and concubines?"

"Stop," said Tuppence, putting her hands to her ears. "You're making it worse."

"Jews?" said Tommy hopefully. "Tribes of Israel?"

But Tuppence shook her had. After a minute or two she said: "I wish I could remember who it was that woman reminded me of."

"The late Vanda Polonska?"

"Yes. The first time I saw her her face seemed vaguely familiar."

"Do you think you had come across her somewhere else?"

"No, I'm sure I hadn't."

"Mrs Perenna and Sheila are a totally different type."

"Oh, yes, it wasn't them. You know. Tommy, about those two. I've been thinking."

"To any good purpose?"

"I'm not sure. It's about that note - the one Mrs Sprot found on the floor in her room when Betty was kidnapped."

"Well?"

"All that about its being wrapped round a stone and thrown through the window is rubbish. It was put there by someone - ready for Mrs Sprot to find - and I think it was Mrs Perenna who put it there."

"Mrs Perenna, Carl, Vanda Polonska - all working together."

"Yes. Did you notice how Mrs Perenna came in just at the critical moment and clinched things - not to ring up the police? She took command of the whole situation."

"So she's still your selection for M?"

"Yes, isn't she yours?"

"I suppose so," said Tommy slowly.

"Why, Tommy, have you got another idea?"

"It's probably an awfully dud one."

"Tell me."

"No, I'd rather not. I've nothing to go on. Nothing whatever. But if I'm right, it's not M we're up against, but N."

He thought to himself.

"Bletchley. I suppose he's all right. Why shouldn't he be? He's a true enough type - almost too true, and after all, it was he who wanted to ring up the police. Yes, but he could have been pretty sure that the child's mother wouldn't stand for the idea. The threatening note made sure of that. He could afford to urge the opposite point of view -"

And that brought him back again to the vexing, teasing problem to which as yet he could find no answer.

Why kidnap Betty Sprot?

III.

There was a car standing outside Sans Souci bearing the word Police on it.

Absorbed in her own thoughts Tuppence took little notice of that. She turned in at the drive and entering the front door went straight upstairs to her own room.

She stopped, taken aback, on the threshold, as a tall figure turned away from the window.

"Dear me," said Tuppence. "Sheila?"

The girl came straight towards her. Now Tuppence saw her more clearly, saw the blazing eyes deep set in the white tragic face.

Sheila said: "I'm glad you've come. I've been waiting for you."

"What's the matter?"

The girl's voice was quiet and devoid of emotion. She said: "They have arrested Carl!"

"The police?"

"Yes."

"Oh, dear," said Tuppence. She felt inadequate to the situation. Quiet as Sheila's voice had been, Tuppence was under no misapprehension as to what lay behind it.

Whether they were fellow conspirators or not, this girl loved Carl von Deinim, and Tuppence felt her heart aching in sympathy with this tragic young creature.

Sheila said: "What shall I do?"

The simple forlorn question made Tuppence wince. She said helplessly: "Oh, my dear."

Sheila said, and her voice was like a mourning harp: "They've taken him away. I shall never see him again."

She cried out: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" And flinging herself down on her knees by the bed, she wept her heart out.

Tuppence stroked the dark head. She said presently, in a weak voice: "It - it may not be true. Perhaps they are only going to intern him. After all, he is an enemy alien, you know."

"That's not what they said. They're searching his room now."

Tuppence said slowly, "Well, if they find nothing -"

"They will find nothing, of course! What should they find?"

"I don't know. I thought perhaps you might?"